Murder For Me
by iwillseduceyouwithmyweirdness
Summary: Sherlock is bored, as usual, and asks John to get him a murder. when a body turns up later that day, there is overwhelming evidence that John could be the murderer. But would John really do that? and if not, who did it. (I promise you that it will be better than it sounds!)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! As I am sure you've guessed, I don't own anything! I really hope you enjoy this and please R&R because it would help me a lot! **

"John!" Sherlock shouted out in the direction of the kitchen, "John! I'm _bored_!" He called again.

"Well then amuse yourself." John sighed, exasperated, by the detective's behaviour. _It's hardly my fault, all the criminals of London have decided to stop working and now only the lowest classes of uninteresting, drug addicted, petty criminals are still working._ He thought. _It has been like this for what seems like weeks. Lestrade has no cases. He and Mycroft spend most of their time together now. I can't see what they talk about, socks? Favourite tie colours? Whatever they do, it's boring and inconsequential to my foul mood. I no longer care._

"But _how?_" Sherlock's baritone voice droned. He knew he is being difficult and childish but, really, he didn't care. Besides, John could do things to amuse him, he thought, but he wasn't- that meant that it was his fault.

"Sherlock, I am sure you can find something. There is a lot to do, you just want a murder and can't see past that!"

"Why can't you do something to amuse me then if you have so many ideas?" Sherlock could see the doctor's irritation. _He is so bad at hiding his emotions, unlike me_.

"An experiment?" John offered.

"Boring."

"Phone Molly, she might have something to do."

"Boring." He droned, "I want a murder."

"Well there aren't any. Check the blog again," the doctor offered, nodding to his laptop and taking a bite of the biscuit he just got from the cupboard.

"I've already looked."

"Well then there is nothing that I can do, is there?" he sighed, handing me the younger man a cup of tea.

"Yes there is!" There was nothing he could do but Sherlock just wanted to make John's life difficult when his was. At least then he get some satisfaction.

"What then?" He shouts. _Wow, he really is angry! I suppose he did try…_

"Murder for me." Sherlock stated as if it was an obvious solution. At this ridiculous request, John collected his coat and walked out, leaving his tea to go cold. _Now I have nothing to amuse me_.

**Thank you all for reading! I promise it will get a lot more interesting in the next chapters; I just had to set the scene first. I am relatively new to this so I must apologise for my writing skills! Please, please, please review as it will give me confidence and make me update quicker! I hope you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! So this is chapter two and I have a better idea of where this is going now. I really hope you like it. Please read and review! The rating has gone up because there are vague references to drug use and some swearing to come in later chapters. Thank you to the people who have reviewed and followed this! **

**I still don't own anything :/**

Sherlock lay in his normal thinking position- hands folded, as if in prayer, under his chin, eyes closed- he was trying to fight the urge to use his stash of drugs that he kept hidden at the back of his wardrobe. He needed a case. His mind was raging and falling apart without the thrill of it. Grounding himself was the hardest thing to do at that moment, but it was necessary.

John had been gone for about two hours. He had not done what Sherlock had wanted and amused him. John was probably at his house with Mary and The Child (to Sherlock, the tiny, smelly, creepy mess which was John's daughter didn't deserve the rank of 'human' yet).

Another half an hour dragged by. Sherlock was determined to amuse himself and not allow his cravings to get the better of him. He would not allow his body to betray him. Composing helped a little. The placid movement of the bow produced sounds that had never been heard in that order before and that gave the detective hope; there was still newness in the world and with newness came the possibility of murder. Just as this thought entered his head, he heard the unmistakeable buzz of his phone. Finally! He thought, gracefully leaping over his chair to reach his battered, chemically altered wreckage of a phone.

Got a murder for you! Get John and be at Covent Garden in 10 minutes.

-GL

Something interesting was finally happening! Sherlock leapt in celebration at the thought of murder, grabbed his well-loved coat, scarf and hat and left the flat, his coat billowing behind him as he went.

Once in the cab, Sherlock texted John- he knew that the older man couldn't refuse a good murder, especially now that the baby had arrived. The reply was almost instant: on my way now- JW. The day was finally getting to be exciting.

John and Lestrade were already talking when Sherlock arrived at the crime scene. He didn't have the time to stop and talk so headed for the white tent which was situated off to the left of the square. John and Lestrade were soon following behind, still talking about the mundane- boring!

The body was that of a young woman, whom Sherlock soon identified as Sophie Hamilton, age 21, living just on the Yorkshire border. "She had obviously travelled up today to see her long term boyfriend- crime of passion perhaps?" The detective then looked at her nails. "On second thoughts, maybe not- the nails aren't right for that."

"The nails?" Anderson questioned sceptically.

"Yes, of course the nails, it so obvious! Now get out, I want to concentrate and your sheer stupidity is putting me off!" Sherlock stalked way there was nothing else to find on the body so he went outside to try and find the cause of death- there wasn't even a scratch on the girl.

A young PC called Lestrade over and they began to discuss something in hushed voices. A frown quickly formed on Lestrade's face and the worried expression drew Sherlock over. "What is it?" he demanded, sending the PC scuttling off into the crime scene again.

Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck and looked awkwardly at the ground, he knew that he would never be able to hide the truth from Sherlock, but it would make him reckless and bias towards the case. Sherlock's cold, calculating eyes were locked onto him and he knew that he had to tell the detective. "Well," he murmured, clearing his throat, why was it so damn hard to tell him this? "it's just that, on the CCTV, a person, matching John's description was seen hanging around- and then following the victim down there," he nodded towards the large white tent that was now drawing the public's attention, "at around the estimated time of death." Lestrade couldn't even bear to look at Sherlock as he delivered the information. He knew that it would break the younger man's heart to know that John had murdered someone. What made it worse was that Anderson had overheard and was now making snide comments as Sherlock stormed away, John, bewildered and wide eyed, being dragged behind him. Just as they were about to duck under the fence, Anderson must have said something really bad to Sherlock as he whorled around and punched him square in the nose, screaming profanities at him as he did.

He ran. John obediently followed.

**So I know that the way Sherlock found out was a bit pathetic and his reaction was a little strange to say the least but it will get better, I promise! Please review as it would mean a lot to me! I am hoping that I will get more into it as I continue as I haven't written for a long time (why does life always get in the way of everything!?). I know lots of people don't like Mary but I do and I hope that it will add more to later chapters. I really hope you like it!**


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